


Rule #725

by respoftw



Series: Tumblr Prompts - Hawksilver edition [76]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Eggnog, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5351285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/pseuds/respoftw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas prompt from agentsummers asking for eggnog induced flirting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule #725

There were a lot of rules in Avengers Tower. Mostly of the informal, unwritten kind but very much integral to the peaceful cohabitation of the world's greatest superheroes.

Like the rule that once a week the gym was closed to those with superhuman strength, purely so the rest of the guys could work out without feeling like failures as they watched Cap or Thor bench press the equivalent of an elephant. (Even if it did make Natasha roll her eyes and comment pointedly about men and their small, fragile....egos.)

Or the rule that whoever was up first in the morning put the coffee pot on and, whoever used the last of the pot, brewed a fresh one. Actually, that rule was written down. In big, bold font with obnoxious exclamation marks, stuck to the top of the coffee machine. Steve had spent too many mornings (one morning, to be exact) dealing with a coffee deprived Clint and vowed to do everything in his power so that it would never happen again.

The common room television was governed by dozens of rules, all of them vital to the harmony of the Tower. Never change the channel when Natasha and Clint were watching Iron Chef, unless you wanted a knife or arrow uncomfortably close to your throat; Don't talk about who got voted out of Dancing with the Stars until Rhodey and Wanda had both had a chance to watch the results lest you wanted to witness the mother of all hissy fits (and that was just Rhodey.); Never, ever, assume the cheesey family movies about horses and Dolphins and plucky young orphan kids who made good were on the hard disc by accident. Sam and Pietro would have no problems in tattling to Cap about uncaring towermates who didn't appreciate quality cinema when they saw it.

There were a lot of rules in Avengers Tower. In fact, Pietro's pretty sure that, after tonight, another one is going to be added to the list.

Rule #723 : When having a Christmas party, make sure to label the bowl of eggnog that has been mixed for those residents with a faster metabolism and/or super human tolerance clearly to stop idiotic, human disaster archers from imbibing said eggnog and making an ass of themselves, and embarrassing heroic young speedsters in the process.

"You h'v really perty eyes. Y'r hair's not so good but I kinda like it anyway. S'grey. Or issit white? I dunno. S'weird. But soft. And pretty." Clint smiles beatifically at Pietro, as the object of his drunken affection turns bright red and glares at his sniggering, so-called friends.

"Why'r you turnin' red?" Clint pokes his fingers towards Pietro's flaming cheeks, prodding them in confusion and pouting as Pietro bats his hand away. "Ow! You did'n haffto hit. But don' worry, y'r still pretty. I like red. S'not as good as purple but is close."

"Hey, Clint? Can you come over here for a second?" Tony sounds far too pleased with himself as he calls Clint over to him and Pietro doesn't trust him for a second, already drafting rule #724 in his head: no messing with the inebriated archer unless you want a fistful of Pietro. Not that he's protective towards Clint or anything. Except for how if anyone takes advantage of him in this state, Pietro's gonna go Quicksilver on their ass and except for how he's somehow managed to save Clint's life twelve times since Sokovia, not that he's keeping track of the idiot's near misses (he totally is.)

Clint is evidently too far gone to register the warning bells that are hiding behind Tony's far too innocent looking grin and happily weaves his way towards Tony, pulling Pietro along with him because God forbid that he be expected to let go of the pretty man's shirt. And if Pietro lets himself be pulled along despite how easy it would be to extricate himself from the slack, drunken hold well, then that's his business.

Tony's eyes flash upwards to one of the unnecessary ("it's called 'aesthetic' you heathen") exposed beams as they pass under it and Clint, like the excited Labrador that he is, follows his gaze and gasps in delight at what he finds.

Mistletoe. Of course.

Pietro doesn't even have time to glare at Tony before Clint's hands are on his face, Clint's lips are pressed against his skin, Clint's tongue is begging for entry into his mouth, Clint's entire body lines up against him and Pietro is being kissed like he's never been kissed before.

Ok, Pietro thinks, rule #725 : Clint Barton should always be kissing Pietro Maximoff.

Best. Rule. Ever.


End file.
